


Bring Me Sleep

by FlametheSeraph



Series: Bring Me Sleep [1]
Category: Marble Hornets
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Can be seen as platonic, Caring, Concussions, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Minor Injuries, Post Entry 35, Pre-Relationship, Seizures
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-24 20:35:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30077976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlametheSeraph/pseuds/FlametheSeraph
Summary: Instead of letting Alex hit Tim in the leg, Jay finally decided to take action.Or, Tim wakes up to find Jay Merrick sleeping on his couch.Alternative Summary: Masky wants some sleep ffs.
Relationships: Jay Merrick & Timothy "Tim" Wright | Masky, Jay Merrick/Timothy "Tim" Wright | Masky
Series: Bring Me Sleep [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2213001
Comments: 3
Kudos: 33





	Bring Me Sleep

He's not a pretty sight, fighting back onto his hands on the dirty, crumbling, probably tetanus carrying floor; wiping his snotty, teary face on his sleeve. The back of his head is still clotting where it hit, and it rings like a church bell inside his skull.

What does he remember? Something about Tim being the masked man, and then Alex about to hit the man with _something_ ... but that didn't happen? Whatever happened between now and then must be why it feels like he got smacked by a falling light pole.

He's not alone. A vicious snarl echoes through the room, and a yank upwards by two very strong hands shakes away the last of his haziness.

The eyes of the beast. He stares into them, breath on his chin. Wild and angry brown with a tinge of green. His back is pressed against the wall, and he's bending his knees to try and escape, to no avail. He wants to shout, "I'm-I'm sorry," it comes out like a whisper.

Tim's eyes, his hair, his face and nostrils, they're all wrinkled in silent rage - but not at him - it's not directed at him. The hands aren't fisting in his collar like before. Just … holding.

Jay's boiling hot, pain behind his eyes, but he doesn't know what to do with … this - besides get him home. He's not exactly sure where Tim lives though - long stolen from memory - or how he got here, or if he's about to be murdered - but his suspicions of that fade away by the second.

"We should … I should get out of here?" The strange-stated Tim snorts like a boar in his face, and stomps off, fussing with the broken coord of the mask. "Hey - wait up!" Jay follows him with his (surprisingly) intact camera. They move fast, not running, just slow enough so Jay can keep up. This might be the biggest lead he has and he's not letting 'Tim' get away.

They eventually make it up the concrete path leading to the parking lot, only Jay's car is present.

"Is your car in another spot?"

He shakes his head no.

"Don't tell me you walked all the way to Rosswood …"

"..."

"That's like - 6 miles!"

"..."

"Thanks, you're very helpful." 

The masked one stands indiscernibly frustrated next to Jay's passenger door.

"Do you live at the same house-"

He hits the window.

"Hey! Don't hit my car! Just - ugh - sit down…" He unlocks the car and Tim is already sitting down, still as a leaf bug.

".... Seatbelt?"

"..."

"For the love of - hold on…" He scrambles over the center console, fighting to put the seatbelt in place, but they keep squirming and shoving his face away.

"There! Now - stop it! Can't you act like an adult?"

"..."

"No I don't care if you're doing … whatever this is. You're being - you're being very - you're being very … rude." He decides. It feels like scolding a child, and Jay doesn't want to treat him that way, plus the fact that he cannot talk to children whatsoever.

"You're not going to speak to me aren't you."

"..."

"Great…"

He seems safe enough to start the car, just praying the unstable passenger can stay within the confines of his seat. Apparently he cannot, because as they're driving aimlessly in a familiar neighborhood, an arm reaches over and pulls the wheel, car lurching as it turns down a road.

"TIM YOU CAN'T DO THAT!" He rights the car and scans around for cops. "Just stop."

They pass a house and he … rolls out of the car.

"TIM YOU CAN'T DO THAT!" Well at least this looks like what Jay can remember to be his house. And if it's not he should really catch up to Tim because he's currently barging in.

"Tim - hey - I know you can hear me-" He says, half-jogging after the cryptid, who lays on the carpet the next second, breathing heavily, mask falling off, a look of something between angry and pleading. His muscles go tense and rigid.

"Oh - oh - uh hold on." He says, though really there's no way to hold on in this case. A soft jacket, a bit dirt and leaf-covered, is placed under his head. Just as everything begins.

Jay's only been privy to have seen a few seizures in his lifetime, but this etches a new sort of worry in his festering fingers. 

Some people receive warnings. Some do not. Sometimes, they thrash about wildly. Sometimes they shake only but the slightest, muscles tightening, then relaxing, all at once. And even more rare but real, a person looks normal, but their actions speak differently. One poor fellow he'd passed in the grocery store, had suddenly stopped talking on his phone, stared blankly, and then began to take all his clothes off. The middle of the frozen pizza aisle.

And yet this one pinches his nerves the most. Tim simply goes rigid everywhere, and stays that way, still as death, even his breath holds in with terrible silence.

Medication. He has a prescription.

Jay risks leaving him a moment scavenging around his bathroom, flinging things out of his medicine cabinet, empty plastic bottles hitting the ground - actually - Jay still has some of the same medication from Brian's house. It might be outdated, but it's worth a shot. _{Or he might make it worse. Jay's not a pharmacist}_ He rifles through the bags in his car - bingo! Wait how will this help now he's already having the seizure … fuck it.

Jay comes back in, almost running into Tim, who's already up and preparing to storm out the door after Jay. "Here-" He rips it out of his hands, looking at Jay once before unscrewing the cap and pushing two of the pills in his mouth. "You need water!" Jay yells, the man gagging trying to dry swallow the things, and he returns with a half-full glass ten seconds later. The feral thing won't take it and so he shoves the glass up against his lips, fighting with him, getting water all over the floor and carpet. It's only _after_ the mess that he figures it out, taking long, desperate sips from the glass.

"Do you want more?" Tim nods vigorously. "Ok … you have to give me the cup … oh come on don't play this game with me … fine." He gives up and settles for a second glass, filling it ¾ of the way. The first cup is discarded once this shiny new thing is offered. 

After swallowing the medication, his mood switches to a much more amiable approach.

In his riflings, Jay had managed to unearth some rubbing alcohol and cotton. Tim has a cut on the side of his forehead, and even small head wounds like to bleed a lot.

"Don't fight me on this." There's an audible grunt, but he lays on the floor, letting Jay get to work cleaning the dried blood, from his face with a wet towel, cleaning his scraped hands, and putting a little bit of cotton under a bandage on his temple for good measure. Not one flinch of pain, and he looks at his face - his eyes are closed, muscles slack. "Don't fall asleep here - Let's … you should get to bed." An enthusiastic nod.

He flops right into bed two seconds after entering the room, and Jay removes his shoes at least. There's a tug on Jay's arm. "What?"

He's pulled to the edge of the mattress, forced to sit. "Tim - you need to get some sleep, you're not feeling all that well." But he is insistent.

One passive sigh later, he sits at the head of the bed, Tim traps his hand, and he feels _really_ bad about this. But it seems to calm him. He can only hope that the stable Tim is approving of this.

It doesn't take long before Jay is able to slip his hand free of a sleepyhead, leaving a fresh glass of water and his medicine on the side table. His eyes are droopy and thick and he can't care to do much besides locking the door and sitting down on the couch. They're not exactly anything beyond acquaintances, but after all of that - he's too tired to give three fruit sticks. He lays down, semi-comfortable on the worn thing, resting his head on a pillow. Thankfully, sleep comes easy tonight.

\---

Tim blinks awake, in pain just about everywhere, muscles aching. He's fully dressed.

 _Fuck._ He'd done it again. At least he's home.

Mattress springs creak under the shifting weight, hand rubbing his eye. He stands, idly making his way into the hallway, sniffing. He intends to put some Tylenol and bread into his system and go back to sleep before he can look at the calendar date. He doesn't want to know. Spare him a few hours more of rest. He stands over the sink, sipping water and lazily chewing bread. He looks up, kitchen light shining against his dark living room, but there's just a hint of grey pre-dawn sunlight coming through the blinds. The carpet, a small tv, the couch - THE COUCH! SOMEONE IS LYING ON THE COUCH!

He gasps, jumping back, righting himself before any water can spill and cause more noise. He swallows the bread in one go and _gently_ , foot by foot, he comes around the counter, doing his best not to cause a creak. He should have something to hit him with. Something to defend himself in case…........

the mask lies there in the middle of the room.

Oh _fuck._ Did he kill someone? No - they're breathing, softly. Oh god maybe he kidnapped them.

He sees the hat first, and a few faces come to mind, but the more he strains in the dark, the more features become apparent. Jay Merrick. Jay Merrick is curled up on his couch.

His next reaction is to check the backdoor - locked. Jay's car is parked outside, but not his own…. 

He must've let Jay in during whatever … whatever it was that he goes through. He doesn't like to think about it. He's not hurt. His house is intact. He woke up in bed with _a glass of water and meds_ on the nightstand. He wouldn't think ahead enough to do that, always hiding the pills in the most inconvenient of spots. So that leaves Jay, and if he didn't run off, there wasn't an altercation. He didn't hurt anybody. Jay didn't hurt him. 

In the bathroom, he closes the door and inspects himself in the bright yellow light. His knuckles are a bit scraped, wrists just barely bruised, and a bandaid is over a small gash on his head. He's in his jacket and jeans, both of which are smudged in cement dust and dead leaves. Not that uncommon. He already has a fresh change of clothes on the counter for this purpose.

Returning to the living room, he sneaks over again to examine his visitor. To wake or not to wake, that is the question. Jay has tucked his front side against the back of the couch, hiding his face into it. His knees are almost in the fetal position, and he clings to one of the throw cushions.

Tim feels a warring mix of possessiveness for his pillow, and idle amusement at Jay's sleeping form. He's out of it, snoozing like a cat. 

They have _a lot_ to talk about. But for now, let the poor man rest. Tim drapes a blanket over him, returning to his room.


End file.
